Stockholm Syndrome
by Ravenna Mireille
Summary: Definition; feelings of trust or affection felt in many cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim towards a captor.
1. Kidnap

This is kind of a dark genre that i never really ventured into before, but everything is a HEA towards later on in the story. This is also a dislaimer for FSOG.

* * *

Stockholm Syndrome

_A condition which causes hostages to develop a psychological alliance with their captors as a survival strategy during captivity._

_A psychological response wherein a captive begins to identify closely with his or her captors, as well as with their agenda and demands._

The first sensation I felt was pain. A dull, throbbing ache between my temples, drumming against my skull. My eyelids were drooping, puffy and heavy, a bit too difficult to open. I sigh against my pillow which smelled unfamiliar, not like me as they usually did and they were too soft. My eyes slowly opened against the glaring light of my windows and turned to face the warm beige of my bedroom ceiling, except it wasn't beige. A clinical, stark white ceiling was now in my line of vision as I realise that I was not in the clothes I wore out last night.

I now wore a black silk nightgown with lace trim near the swell of my breasts. Ignoring the pain of my throbbing head, I hurriedly try to find the clothes I wore last night with no such luck. The room, I noticed, was pretty. Feminine, even. A silver grey wallpaper designed with flowery motifs and plastered behind the upholstered headboard of the white queen sized bed. A small glass chandelier hanged above the tri-mirrored vanity in one corner of the room but there wasn't a chair. Beside it was an enormous floor to ceiling window which replaced one of the four walls. From what I saw, this place was an apartment very high up in the skies of Seattle.

Confusion fills me as I wonder how I even got here and where was Kate? I wrap myself in the duvet covers from the bed to give some extra warmth and coverage to face the owner of this apartment. Two deep breaths in and I slowly turned the door knob, only to find it halt mid-way as if locked. I try again and a third time but nothing gives way. My breathing gets panicked as I continue to jiggle the doorknob and push against it with my small frame and slam my palm against the white wood of the door repeatedly.

I stopped and look around the room, the noticeable sound of my laboured breaths in the air mixing with my heart pounding in my ears. A small red light catches my eye and it's attached to a small black security camera wired to the ceiling on the opposite wall of the vanity, next to the bed.

Anger fills my voice as I shout towards the offending object, "Let me out! Who are you!? Let me _go_!"

I continue to shout and shriek until my throat is raw and sore. My voice is the only I hear for hours as it echoes back at me through the empty room and nothing happens. The apartment was too far up the building that there were no apartments parallel to this one. I was held prisoner in a glass tower, high in the sky and I didn't know who my captor was.

The adrenaline wears down and I start to tear up, tears begin to spill over and I begin to wail. I collapse in a heap on the floor, buried in the duvet covers. Another couple of hours pass this way until I hear keys being inserted in the door. I sit up quickly, covering myself again with the duvet to hide as much skin as possible.

A man enters the room with a ski mask covering his face apart from his eyes and mouth. He carried with him a glass of water in his left hand and a plateful of food in his right which he sets down on one of the bedside tables. He's tall and broad shouldered, wearing a simple grey turtleneck sweater and dark jeans.

I struggle to clear my throat, "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

He continues to stand in front of me, observing, saying nothing.

"Please," I whisper, "I think you have the wrong person."

Nothing comes out his mouth and I stand up, attempting to square up to him, make him see I'm not worth the trouble.

"People will notice that I'm gone. They'll come looking for me, I have a roommate that I was with last night. She'll notice." My voice gaining in strength and filling with conviction. "They'll find you."

I study his face and notice he's looking at me in bewilderment, like I'm a new species that's just emerged after a billion years of being hidden. His lips move as if to say something but they falter at the last moment and he looks annoyed by his inability to speak.

Something in my fear triggers the rush behind my ears and I throw the duvet I was using to shield myself, onto his unsuspecting form and I quickly make a run towards the door of the room. I make it past a hallway lined with other doors and reach a clearing on top of some stairs but before I could take the first step, an arm reaching around my midsection roughly pulls me back. I scream and shriek while he drags me back in by inch and I begin kicking my legs and reaching behind me to claw at their figure, I successfully head-butt him and stomp on his feet in order for my release.

He groans and clutches his head and kneels down on one foot but I don't look back as I make my way down the stairs, across a foyer and towards elevator doors. I rapidly press the button and the service comes just as quickly but to my despair, as I press the button for the ground floor, it stays still. I feel him before I see him. The elevator doors stay open as he stalks towards me, I cower at the corner of the elevator, grasping the railing that goes around its perimeter with my shaking hands.

He's a metre away and both of our breathing is harsh in my ears, he reaches for my arms and with no visible way of escape, I let them hang limply at my sides. He grasps both in one hand and reaches in his back pocket, he produces a cable tie and ties my hands together but he takes another one and links my makeshift cuffs to one of his wrists, making an effective chain. He drags me back into the apartment, my feet creating resistance with the marble floor and the elevator doors close behind us.

"Why are you doing this?" My voice wavers, "I want to go home, _please_."

He continues to drag me back to the room I was held, and I look around the extravagant apartment. Marble floors and sterile glass and metal furniture. It's all whites, blacks and greys with no other colour filling the vast space. Another line of floor to ceiling windows replace traditional walls and gives view to the magnificent Seattle skyline. It's nearly dark now, I notice.

I keep tugging on our restraints and stumble over the first step of the stairs. I land on my knees with both my hands suspended in the air because of its connection to my captor's arm. I look up at him and his lips are parted, breathing heavily and his eyes turn dark, hungry. Nevertheless, he pulls my up to my feet and carries on leading me back to the silver room.

"I don't want to go back in there." I state, "It's cold."

He turns back to look at me with his grey eyes, almost sceptically, almost amused. As if, out of all the thing's I could've said, that I don't belong here, I don't want to be a captive, I don't want to be held there against my will, I choose that I am cold. I did not see any other forms of exit other than the elevator but a building this tall must have a fire exit of some sort.

"I want to go home."

My words fall on deaf ears as he leads me into the room anyway and locks the door behind him. My fear spikes through the roof and I begin to shake as he pulls of a Swiss knife. I begin to pull away from him to create some form of distance, my thin nightgown already giving me goosebumps due to the cold and tears begin to well up in my eyes. He pulls the knife closer to my form until my knees hit the edge of the bed and I'm sitting.

He pushes the knife onto the restraints and frees him and myself from the loop, all the while looking into my eyes. He suddenly jerks his chin to the now cold plate of food and glass of water he initially brought into the room, his lips twitching again in the same manner as before but nothing comes out.

Without another sound or gesture, he makes his way towards the door, inevitably leaving me here by myself again. I make another feeble attempt in the hopes he'll turn around.

"_Please, _let me_ go_."

He turns to face me as he closes the door before it fully shuts, he utters a single word that brings the tears back to my eyes and bile rise to my throat.

"No."

* * *

Hope you enjoyed, stay tuned.

Please feel free to write a review.


	2. Because I want you to be

Again, the usual disclaimer before i continure with the story.

They have a little bit of conversation in here, so keep reading.

* * *

Stockholm Syndrome

_A condition which causes hostages to develop a psychological alliance with their captors as a survival strategy during captivity._

_A psychological response wherein a captive begins to identify closely with his or her captors, as well as with their agenda and demands._

**Captor's POV**

She's here.

She's finally here, after months of planning and preparation. I finally have her where I want her.

I was stupid to saunter into her room without taking precautions but I just had to see her.

I spent hours looking at the CCTV screen just watching her react to the situation and finally, when she collapsed in a cotton heap on the floor, I decided to bring her some dinner.

I stood there like an idiot trying to formulate words to say before I sat the food down on her bedside table but I honestly did not know what to say to her.

Hi? Hello? You're going to be living here now for the foreseeable future?

I didn't expect her to make her escape that quickly. Her small, lithe frame made her very fast on her feet and she nearly did get away after the scuffle on top of the stairs but she didn't have the code to permit the elevator to move.

I'm now suddenly grateful that I made the change for the code to work two ways rather than only upon entry.

A loud crash of what seems like glass hits the door of her room after five minutes of me standing outside listening to her cries.

I'll have to monitor her more closely, in case she hurts herself. She's angry, I get that. She's stuck in a place she's unfamiliar with someone she doesn't know but she'll get used to it…in time.

Listen, I'm not going to appeal for my humanity or whatever else but I wasn't always like this. A kidnapper, I mean. A stalker, maybe but once I saw her that was all it took. I just had to have her, keep her even if she didn't want to be kept.

"Jesus," I whispered to myself.

I take off my ski mask as I head back to my room downstairs but not before setting the thermostat in her room to a warmer temperature.

My head was filled with clouds of her, the way her skin felt sheathed in that tiny little silk gown I dressed her in last night.

Her eyes, as beautiful as I remembered they were, were now filled with fear and anger directed towards me. I don't want her time here to be miserable, she just needs to give me a chance.

After showering, I made sure to get the small handheld vacuum from the cleaning cupboard and make my way back to her room to clean up her little mess. I slip my ski mask back on just as I unlock the door and find that she's slipped into the corner of the room, farthest from the door.

One look at her and I'm damn near salivating.

Her nightgown was hugging all the right places but most of her makeshift shield is covering her frame. Her mahogany hair glinted in the soft glow of her room and framed her face in a way that I found so seductive. Her eyes were downcast but flit to mine in short bursts and I see her clear, baby blues.

_She's a goddess._

I take a step forward and hear the crunch of glass beneath my shoe-clad feet, I quickly remember what I came here to do. It seems that she has took the mirror from the vanity and threw it against the door, in her fit of rage.

As I bend down to clean up her dangerous mess, I see that she hasn't eaten her food or took a sip of her drink. I see red. I look at her with my displeasure written on my face but thankfully, covered by the mask.

"Do you not like it?" I ask her, the first sentence I've spoke to her all day.

Her head looks up in a split second and I almost hear her neck crack. Her face filled with confusion.

"The food, " I nod to the plate.

"I don't trust you," she says back and it's a knife through my chest. She thinks I'm trying to poison her or sedate her.

I walk over to the food and take the spoon I gave her, no forks, and shovel a small helping of the mac and cheese into my mouth and sip the glass of water. It's now lukewarm and the noodles a little tough and cold from exposure but safe to eat nonetheless.

"I would never try to harm you on purpose, just to let you know." I set my eyes back on her shivering frame.

"Then why am I here, if you don't want to harm me?" She questions me.

I busy myself, cleaning up the glass, making sure to get every cranny before she injures herself. "You're here because I want you to be."

"But why?" She straightens her form, determined to know her fate. "You want me as a doll? A pet? A pet that you keep for your pleasures? To do with as you wish?"

Anger fills me. How dare she think that that's what I want.

I hold her in too high of a regard to do that. Despite the fact that she's here against her will, it doesn't change the fact that I do not want her to be miserable, to be a puppet.

"No." I clench my jaw.

She starts to move forward and I'm wary of the door, I locked it when I entered so it should be fine.

"Then tell me." Her blue eyes gazing into my own, "You, at least, owe me that much."

I stand up to my full height, "I can't." I persevere.

"So you don't even have a reason as to why you're keeping me here, like a caged animal." She spits at me.

Oh, I do have a reason, Anastasia. I just can't tell you that yet. If I do, it won't happen the way it needs to or it simply won't happen. Period.

I try and deflect the conversation back to her lack of appetite.

"You need to eat. Stay healthy."

She shakes her head, "I don't want it. I'm not taking anything that you give me."

"You'll starve."

"I'd rather."

Her stubborn demeaned gets on my nerves but it gives me a rush. No one has ever refused me like she does but then again, she's not like everybody. Her words still sting, though.

Would she rather die, than stay here, with me?

She has a step-father in Montesano and a mother in Georgia. She visits both as frequently as she can, her father more so. Her visits to her mother only occur 4, maybe 5, times a year, depending if she has time off work. I wonder if that's due to their relationship or the distance, I noticed her mother did not attend her graduation, a few months ago.

She is hired as an assistant to an Editor at Seattle Independent Publishing, which is fitting as her major is in English Literature. She willingly took the position even if she had substantial experience in the land of publishing already. She achieved a 4.0 GPA from Washington State University which shows her studious nature.

I look at her face and it's filled with steely determination.

And the answer was no. No, she would not. She has too much to live for, so many things still to be done and I'd let her do them, hopefully by the time my plan is done but in the meantime, she needs to eat.

**Ana's POV**

"Eat."

The last thing he says before taking his handheld vacuum and goes out the door, locking it behind him. The sound of the lock makes me flinch. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I've ate his food but my stomach growls and moans after the long time of being here.

He ate a small mouthful and drank some water to prove it wasn't drugged or poisoned as he was still coherent in our conversation.

More like, I gave him a Kavanagh inquisition.

The thought makes my mood even sombre than before. I miss Kate. I hope she's noticed, or at least someone else has.

She was the last person I was with last night. We went clubbing, after she convinced my introverted self, to celebrate the end of the working week. That's all I remember.

My search for my belongings was futile when I first woke up, as I found nothing.

The smell of macaroni cheese kept getting stronger as it permeated the room now that I wasn't bawling or throwing things in anger. The only reason I wouldn't have it was to spite him but I was growing hungrier by the minute. Giving up, I walk towards the nightstand and shovel the Mac and cheese in my mouth.

I take a deep breath and sigh after I finish it. It was good, basic Kraft macaroni cheese, but a little tough from how long it was left sitting there for.

I didn't notice how thirsty I was before my lips touched the water and I gulped it down, greedily. It ran out too soon and I was left more parched than before.

I shrug out of my duvet and I realise that the temperature is a lot warmer than it was a couple hours ago.

Huh, I guess he does listen to some things.

I lay down and look back towards the window and see the glittering lights of the Seattle buildings. I feel small, suddenly. Minuscule and alone, tucked inside this ivory tower, hidden away from view.

_You're here because I want you to be._

I shake my head and scrunch my eyes shut in order to block out the view of my surroundings, trying to imagine myself back in my bedroom in my apartment, with Kate singing horribly in the shower.

I take a shaky breath in and tears escape my eyes once again.

I just hope they find me.


	3. Something Else

Dislaimer for FSOG Characters

* * *

Stockholm Syndrome

_A condition which causes hostages to develop a psychological alliance with their captors as a survival strategy during captivity._

_A psychological response wherein a captive begins to identify closely with his or her captors, as well as with their agenda and demands._

**Ana's POV**

I watch as the yellow dot makes its way down the road below, it takes eight slow seconds before it turns into a corner and out of view.

I search for another coloured dot to follow with my eyes as I have no other form of entertainment. Days have passed this way and it is now day 5, according to the notch in the wood vanity I made with my overgrown nails.

The sky is a light grey overcast, usual for Seattle, but I see rain clouds forming in the distance. Normally, I despise the rain, but I want to feel the breeze and cold on my face. The heat in the room stayed constant ever since the first night.

I sit on the carpeted floor with my forehead pressed against the glass of the window, trying to see as much as possible from the life happening below.

The people, unless the had umbrellas, were too small for me to see so I settle for watching the different coloured cars come up and down on every street. It's getting dark and it's prettier to look at the city when it's at night and all the lights are on.

The lock on the door suddenly jiggles and releases and I don't bother looking back.

I hear the, now familiar, settling of a plate against the nightstand followed by the thud of the glass of water two seconds after.

I try and refocus on the tiny red dot I had my eye on but I cant seem to concentrate. He's always on time to bring my food, like clockwork. His presence brings my nerves up to a high and the feeling of his eyes on my back is unsettling.

He finally brought me a different set of clothes to change into after I woke up the first night. He laid a set of loungewear, a hoodie and leggings, next to each other on the bottom of the bed while I slept.

I also found that he replaced the vanity mirror I had broke, in my temperament. I left it alone this time as I didn't want him to come back and clean it up. I just didn't want him in here, at all.

However, I asked him if there was a restroom available for me to use, after I started to smell myself on the third day. He pushed a section of the wall next to the bed, underneath the camera, and revealed a small bathroom with a shower, sink and toilet. I spend most of my time in there, sitting underneath the warm water of the shower.

I smell the food he's left for me and I realise he's still standing in the room as I didn't hear the lock close on the door and I look back.

I see the spaghetti and meatballs sitting on a white plate and the steam still rising off it.

He's still wearing the stupid blue ski mask that makes his head look lopsided and his eyes are intently focused on me. He reaches up and for a second I think he is trying to remove it. Instead, he reaches up underneath and scratches his chin along with the left side of his jaw.

I release a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding.

My mouth moves by itself, "If it bothers you, why not just take it off?"

He sighs and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, closest to my position on the floor. The silence is uncomfortable and awkward.

"I was wondering what you wanted for dinner tomorrow." He finally says.

My brows furrow, "You've never asked before."

The corner of his lips tilt up to resemble a smile, "I thought it'd be nice to give you a choice."

I scoff, "I choose to leave."

"Food related choice," he interrupts.

"Why? You've never cared before."

His tilts his head, in a sort of 'what-do-you-mean' fashion, "I always care when it comes to you."

His words hit differently and I can tell he means them and my resentment boils down to a simmer.

His confusion at my lack of notice to his devotion, spills out of his actions and are laced into his words.

Of course, I pretended not to notice the choice of food, which he delivered to me daily, were my favourites. Also, the bottles of shampoo and conditioner that were situated within the shower, that happened to be the same brands I used.

I thought it was a simple coincidence but now, I measure that a coincidence is simply not the case.

I get confused all over again.

_Who is this man?_

His ivory tower, up in the sky, expensively sitting above the rest of Seattle, of the world, meant that he was wealthy.

However, Seattle was home to many millionaires, including a few who reached the billion mark so there was no luck intrying to figure out his identity there.

His clothes, as well as the clothes he offered me were designer and fit him perfectly, as if tailored.

I'm pretty sure no one else would drive half an hour out of the city just to get my favourite spaghetti and meatballs out of this one diner of the highway.

I try hard to remember if I ever met him before but I doubt it. He's leaps and bounds beyond my class and never would I have thought that I knew someone like him or even recognised him in my life.

Yet, here he was, sitting in a room with an ill fitting ski mask over his head, looking at the girl he's plucked out of life, offering her plates of her favourite food as if it was normal.

I'm pretty sure he knows everything about me at this point, just as sure as I am about him stalking me before this point in time. Before he took me and put me in here by myself and refused to let me out.

"Anything is fine," I weakly make out.

He always looks like he wants to say something.

Even if he just stands or sits there or even if I haven't said anything to him at all and even when he's finished what he's said.

The way his eyes look at me like I'm the last glass of water in the desert and the way his hands are always curled into fists to stop himself from doing something.

It's not like I can stop him anyway. He's got an elevator that doesn't work for anyone else other than him.

I take a deep breath and release those thoughts, "Are those spaghetti and meatballs?"

He's surprised by my starter in conversation as he's usually the one that starts them.

"Yeah," he clears his throat. "Yes. Do you like them?"

I inwardly crack a smile at his attempted obliviousness, "You'd know if I didn't."

Our voices are small, quiet and un-disruptive. We're whispering but we each can't make our voices go higher than their current volume.

"Do you not have anything else to do?" I ask.

He ignores my tone, "I just finished a set of paperwork and read some emails but it's nearing Friday so unless anything else comes up, I'm free for the next three days."

"Is that what you do after you give me my meals?"

"Mostly, yes. I go into the office sometimes on emergencies but I always make sure I'm back in time for you." He assures me.

I don't know what else to say so I just nod at him.

The silence comes back more uncomfortable this time and he notices. He rubs his hands on his jeans and stands up to leave but before he goes, he turns around to face me again.

"Do you want anything? To ease the boredom?"

His hands settled in his pockets and his broad shoulders were raised, expectant. Then, all of a sudden, his eyes light up and his demeanour changes from expectant to excited.

"I've got books. Thomas Hardy, Austen, the works."

_Ah_, of course he knows I love books.

"That would be.. nice actually. Very nice."

He nods rapidly and leaves the room. As soon as the door locks, my form slumps down and my shoulders cave in towards my body and my breathing becomes shaky and loud.

The tension leaving my body as I crawl towards the bed and my energy falters even though, I've done nothing but sit on the floor for the whole day. I look around the room once I've settle in bed and my eyes settle on the plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

I don't know what he wants from me. If he wanted to harm me, he would've already.

He brings me my favourite food and knows my favourite authors. He says he cares for me and I am confident that he knew me before all of this happened.

I finish my meal, drink my water and head towards the bathroom to cleanse myself.

My eyes linger on the bottles of apple scented shampoo and coconut milk body wash before I look up at the beauty mirror. I look the same as I usually do but my hair is a lot messier and untamed due to the absence of a hair brush. I turn the water on and wait for it to warm up.

After my shower, I choose the ensemble of the hoodie and leggings for tonight and I make my way to the vanity to notch in another groove onto white, varnished wood.

Six days now.

Is dad worrying right now? What about mom? Kate? Are they looking for me?

A loud thud scares me and I look towards the door, expecting him to come in but he doesn't. I continue to stand there for a further couple of minutes before I'm sure he's went away. I tuck myself into bed and for the first time in six days, I think about him. Not to scrutinise and pick at but think about his actions so far.

Our conversation runs through my head and I realise it's the most we've said to each other since I got here. He doesn't come in to taunt but only to make conversation that I studiously ignore whenever he comes to give me food.

His motives of holding me here are still unclear to me and I think of possible ways to get him to trust me.

Maybe, I can use that to get him to let me go. I toss and turn at the hope that bubbles up in my stomach and I suddenly feel sleepy. My eyes close and my head dreams up an image of him, without the mask, bumping into me at my old work of Clayton's Hardware Store.

He just stands there andvsays nothing, and looks around the store.

I offer him my help and he says he's fine but he looks like he wants to say something else.

Just like he always does.


	4. Obsessive Stalker

Disclaimer for FSOG characters.

This chapter is all about how our captor locked eyes with our little miss captive, Ana.

It's set before the events of last chapter and it's just a monologue of how Ana got his attention, ultimately leading to his desicion of capturing her.

* * *

Stockholm Syndrome

_A condition which causes hostages to develop a psychological alliance with their captors as a survival strategy during captivity._

_A psychological response wherein a captive begins to identify closely with his or her captors, as well as with their agenda and demands._

**Captor's POV**

I've always known I was different from others, for the longest time. Even with my family, I've always felt like the odd one out. An outcast trying his best to fit in. I stand over the sink in my bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I try to see past the scars on my chest but my eyes linger on them for too long, as always.

I sneer in distain over my disfigurations. The twelve scars that litter my back and chest, like some cruel connect the dots game. When the time comes, I hope she doesn't mind them.

_Oh, but she will and she'll be more disgusted with you than she is now. Don't you hear her? screaming to be let out? _

I flinch and look away from my reflection. It's Thursday and her fifth day here now and her stubbornness still shines through every minute. Her screaming and banging on the door schemes stopped after the third day and her tantrums are getting toned down which I thought was a good sign. Either that or she was exhausted from all the efforts which were wasted on her bedroom door.

She attacked me again on the second day after I delivered her breakfast. Again, one of her favourites, eggs Benedict with hollandaise sauce and toasted brioche bread from a café near her apartment.

I made sure to secure her wrists and held her there until she calmed down. Once, she did, she cried and I made sure to up her intake of water the next following meals as well as, delivering her breakfast before she wakes up.

I kept trying to make conversation and small talk with her every time I entered to which I received the silent treatment apart from a few nods.

I tighten my grip on the marble sink and push off to get a shirt and my ski mask. I just got back from the small diner that I saw her eating at, with Katherine, several times over the months, to which she always ordered spaghetti and meatballs with a diet coke.

I've been partial to doing my work in my office at home so I could keep a closer eye on Anastasia. I've also sent Taylor and Gail on a month and a half long vacation, fully paid of course, in order to have more time with Anastasia.

Ros, my COO, is overseeing things at the company while I'm here at home. Grey Enterprise Holdings has been my pride and joy for the last 10 years and I've built her with blood, sweat and the tears of other people. GEH was the only thing I've ever wanted for as long as I can remember but I would willingly dissect her and sell her off into pieces and be left with nothing if it meant Anastasia would willingly stay.

I first laid eyes on her in the main lobby on the ground floor of GEH in mid April. Taylor and I were heading back after a quick lunch with my mother in Canlis. She was having a stare-off with Mrs. Baker, the receptionist. Her blue eyes unwilling to stand down and her thick, shiny mahogany hair falling gracefully down her back. She was wearing a band t-shirt and blue jeans that hugged every curve of her ass.

I stopped walking instantly, making Taylor nearly bump into me. I could tell she was getting frustrated but alas, Mrs. Baker didn't budge.

"I told you, I don't want a meeting with Mr. Grey. I just want to give this tape recorder to my friend that has a meeting with him at 1:30. She forgot it at home, she's my roommate."

Her voice was heavily, even as it was laced with annoyance. It was soft and sweet but firm. It flowed like honey in my ears.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but I can't let you up there without an appointment."

"Then can you please have someone alert my friend down and collect it from me?"

Mrs. Baker still looked sceptical of the beautiful woman as many have tried to get to the executive floors before. I decide it would be best for myself to intervene and see if I can ease this woman's troubles.

"Excuse me," I cleared my throat.

Mrs. Baker's eyes widened and she was about to rise and greet me with the usual, "Good Afternoon, Mr. Grey," but I give her a look that stops her in her tracks.

The woman turns around and I'm speechless. Her clear blue eyes and pouty pink lips catch me off guard and it takes me a second to regain my composure. Her scent of apples reminds me of the orchard I used to spend time in outside of my grandparent's house.

I'm scared that she will be just like the rest, that her eyes will linger on me lasciviously and gauge me up and down because of my looks and who I am but before I can say anything, she beats me to it.

"I'm sorry, I must be holding you up." She looks at me apologetically. "You can go ahead, I wasn't getting anywhere anyway."

Did she think that I wanted to use the reception? My eyes search her face and find that she's absolutely genuine.

I clear my throat, "Actually, I couldn't help but hear your current predicament."

"Yeah, I guess I got pretty loud. I do that when I'm frustrated." She looks down and produces the most beautiful rosy, blush I've ever seen.

I smile a rare smile at her, "Well, my friend here is heading to the Executive floor, maybe he could take that to your friend."

I nod at Taylor and he comes over. He introduces himself with a nod and a quick, "Ma'am."

She looks at both of us in surprise, "Oh! That would be fantastic. Thank you very much."

She hands the tape recorder over to Taylor, "Her name is Katherine Kavanagh, she's meant to be interviewing the CEO."

So, her roommate is the tenacious Ms. Kavanagh. I only agreed to her interview as I knew her father, Eamon. He was a big name in media relations, owning his own company, Kavanagh Media.

I nod at Taylor and he leaves with the recorder, leaving the beautiful lady and myself alone. "Might I ask what your name is?"

"My name is Anastasia, but my friends call me Ana."

_Anastasia,_ a perfect and regal name to suit such beauty. The same name as the Grand Duchess, Anastasia Romanova, the youngest daughter of Tsar Nicholas of Russia. A name to suit royalty.

"It's nice to meet you, Anastasia."

Our hands grasp with each other to form the universal sign of meeting.

"Likewise, umm."

"Christian," I smile at her.

"Christian," she repeats after me and there's that tantalising blush again.

She left after Taylor came back to inform her that Ms. Kavanagh received the tape recorder for the meeting that I was running late to. I was tantalised by her, immersed, captured. She spoke to me like a normal person, not for the premise of money and fame but out of politeness, of kindness.

I told Taylor to inform Welch that I needed a background check for an Anastasia, who is roommates with Katherine Kavanagh. I attended the meeting with her friend while my head was completely swimming with thoughts of Anastasia. I had to bite my tongue from asking Ms. Kavanagh questions about her beautiful roommate, who treated me like a normal human being and gave me a breath of fresh air.

The background check came later that day.

_Anastasia Rose Steele_

**_Gender: _**_Female_

**_Date of birth: _**_10th September 1997_

**_Place of Birth: _**_Montesano, Washington_

**_Father:_**

_Franklin Lambert, deceased_

_6th June 1969 - 12th September 1997_

_Widowed: Carla May Wilks_

**_Mother:_**

_Carla Adams née Wilks, born 27th July 1970_

_Marriage History:_

_-Franklin Lambert (1992- 1997)_

_-Raymond Steele (1998- 2014)_

_-Stephen Morton (2015- 2015)_

_-Bob Adams (2015- Present)_

_Current Address:_

_24 Eckles Street, Savannah, Georgia._

**_Education_**

_Washington State University, Vancouver, Washington_

_English Literature _

_4.0 GPA_

_(May 2015- Present)_

**_Occupation:_**

_Employee at Clayton's Hardware Store (July 2015- Present)_

**_Address:_**

_15 Woodcroft Avenue, Vancouver Washington._

_(Lease terminating in 1 month)_

**_Bank Details:_**

_Wells Fargo_

_Account Number: 1109892_

_Balance: $542.67_

_Savings: $4,689.43 _

_Student Load Debt: $26,897.84_

**_Relationships:_**

_Unknown_

**_Sexual Orientation:_**

_Unknown_

My obsession with Anastasia had started there. I had begun taking trips, sometimes twice or thrice a week, to Montesano on Charlie Tango just to get a glimpse of the lovely Ms. Steele.

I jogged along her street in the early hours of the morning and had done it so often that I knew the time she got up and readied herself for the day. I'd sit outside the hardware store in my car, without Taylor, and just observe her. I went inside once but didn't expect her to come up to me and ask if I needed help. Nevertheless, she did and and I declined. I wanted to say so much more to her but given the circumstances, I don't think she recognised me in my baseball cap and normal clothes.

She had a beaten up, light blue Volkswagen Beetle which gave me a heart attack the first time she drove it. I drove extra close to her on those days, well, as close as I could without getting noticed. I watched her on brunches with friends, doing her grocery shopping, running errands. I watched her do everything.

I kept thinking to myself, why am I doing this? It was obscene, the way my obsession formed so quickly and so strongly. Every time I thought about how sick all of it was, I'd catch view of her and nothing else mattered. She was mine, whether I'd have to take her by force. She, herself, will know that.

I had started my plan after she went out with friends to seemingly celebrate the end of their university days. She had her final exam that morning which I'm sure she aced spectacularly.

Fast forward, to her having three vodka shots and a pint of beer on an empty stomach and her so-called friend José Rodriguez nearly shoving his tongue down her throat which earned him a punch to the face, courtesy of my tough little lady, that I realised that she was better off with me. Her roommate oblivious to where she was, had already left with some sleazy guy from the bar, leaving Anastasia to fend for herself.

She was safer with me.

She moved to Seattle with Katherine Kavanagh after her graduation which Raymond Steele attended, but Carla Wilks did not. She had applied to jobs within publishing houses but only in menial positions. I called in to Jerry Roach, the owner of Seattle Independent Publishing to put in a good word for her and two days later, she accepted the position of Assistant Editor to one Jack Hyde.

I simply couldn't have her working so closely with another male, so I called up Ros at GEH and have her acquire SIP, under the guise of my interest in publishing. I had her transferred to work with Elizabeth Morgan, instead.

As for Mr. Rodriguez, he received a call from a somewhat well- known photography exhibition, full time, fully paid, and situated in Bolivia, South America. He left Vancouver in less than 2 weeks.

After June had passed, I was getting restless. I had the best guess room I had renovated to suit more feminine tastes and added the addition of an en-suite bathroom. I changed the regular locks to a more heavy duty, steel which locked on three different sections of the door.

After a few weeks, I'd let her roam around the apartment to do as she please but I had to make sure she wouldn't run before I could let her get to know me better. Before I dismissed Taylor on his holiday with Gail, I made him change the code setting for both ways instead of just entry and made sure he relayed the message to my family members.

Two days ago had proposed the opportunity and set my plan in motion. She was going out again with Katherine to a club in downtown Seattle, to celebrate the end of the working week, I presume. I watched her down drink after drink whilst her friend kept disappearing and appearing in times shorter than the last. I slip in a small sleeping pill in her cosmopolitan and waited until she stepped outside for some air.

And here I am now, ski mask and all, holding a plateful of her favourite spaghetti and meatballs, outside of the room she was not permitted to leave.


	5. Anything for you

**Disclaimer for FSOG characters.**

* * *

Stockholm Syndrome

_A condition which causes hostages to develop a psychological alliance with their captors as a survival strategy during captivity._

_A psychological response wherein a captive begins to identify closely with his or her captors, as well as with their agenda and demands._

**Ana's POV**

I wake up with the morning light seeping through the billowy curtains of the room. It's so peaceful that I almost forget where I am and my situation. I close my eyes and re-open them as I sit up from the bed and as usual, my breakfast is already there being kept warm by the steel dome but something else is taking place in my room.

A luxury reading chair is now settled next to the window. It's comfortable looking as it's padded and nestled on top of each other, on the seat, are three sets of books. Thick novels that look familiar to me as I cross the room and to get a closer look.

_Tess of the D'Urbevilles by Thomas Hardy_

_Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen_

_Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë_

Three of my all time favourites books to read.

I guess I shouldn't be that surprised, given he knows what I like to eat and what brand my shampoo is. I'm between being grateful and depressed. Grateful because now I don't have to watch little dots to pass the time and depressed because of the fact that I'm even here, in the first place.

I stopped my attempts of getting angry and attacking my captor about two to three days ago when I realised that it wouldn't change anything. Screaming and pounding on the door wasn't going to let me out go here.

_But what was?_

It's Friday today or so, he's told me. I think about the dream I had last night of grey eyes in Clayton's. How random and out of place. I stopped working in Clayton's after I graduated as Kate and I were moving to Seattle. That was a good three months ago.

I start to eat my eggs Benedict and contemplate. Did I meet him there? At Clayton's? If so, I probably wouldn't have time to have said more than a couple words to him at most.

I grab Tess of the D'Urbevilles from the chair and sit back down on the bed to finish my meal, sort of like a makeshift breakfast in bed scenario. I sigh and think if this was under normal circumstances, I'd be completely elated. The sun was shining today, an aftermath of all the rainfall last night and the only thing missing from this morning was the taste of my freedom.

My resentment grows as I think about it. Would I really be stuck here forever? Is he really not going to let me go? I don't even know what he looks like so it would be fairly easy for him to spare me and just let me out and leave me be.

_But he's obviously planned this for a while. _

I'm getting restless within the silver room, even with the provided books, I can't help but feel trapped. Trapped, bored and annoyed. I wanted to go out to a park and feel the sun's heat on my face, maybe walk around and get some ice cream.

I feel so isolated that I find myself craving the times when he visits. Even though, whenever I look at him, I feel nothing but anger and resentment for what he's done. The loneliness consumes me and I realise I've been here nearly a week. A week tomorrow, to be exact.

I guess this is what he wants. For me to want him to come to the room. For me to want him to visit me. He's deprived me of human interaction that I do nothing but miss it, and he's the only one who's in the building with me. He's planned it like this.

The door jiggles and unlocks and I sit up from my splay on the bed. It must be lunch already. He steps inside but he doesn't carry any plates or glasses with him. He's wearing a simple t-shirt now with faded jeans and some sneakers. Very casual. Comfortable.

"I see you've discovered the books." He nods towards the discarded Tess I've put on one of the pillows.

"Yes," I nod. "Thank you, for that. I appreciate it."

He looks pleased, validated, "It's no problem, I told you. Just tell me whatever you want and need and I'll provide it for you."

_Huh, funny. The only thing I want, you won't give me._

"Freedom, would be nice." I look at him.

He shakes his head, "You know I can't do that."

"Why not?" I start to stand up from the bed, "It's not like I know what you look like, anyway. You could just let me go and everything would be fine."

"Anastasia," he murmurs. "I'd give you the world. Everything and anything in it but do _not_ ask me to do that."

I scoff at him, "You want to give me the world? Yeah, okay, but_ newsflash_! All you've _given_ me is this stupid room that I can't even fucking leave!"

He clenches his fists and he has the gall to look a little contrite as if he's just realised the hypocrisy in his words, "I'll unlock the door for you, you can wander around the apartment that way."

I interrupt him, "I don't want to wander around the apartment!"

I'm now standing close to him, trying to make him see reason. "I want to go _outside_! It's sunny today and I just want to walk around with all of the other people who aren't fucking held here against their will!"

He just stands there and gazes at me. Everything is quiet for a few beats apart from the sound of my breathing, now ragged, due to my outburst. He lets me calm down before he speaks.

"Well, you can't," He quietly and finally says.

I look at him, I try to really look at him and see behind that mask but I see nothing. My shoulders slump and I snorted a noise of contempt, "No," I relent. "I guess I can't."

The atmosphere inside the room is sombre, depressing.

"Lunch is running a little late," He changes the subject. "I hope you don't mind."

I shake my head as I take a seat back on the bed. He walks over to the window next to the new addition of furniture situated in the room.

"So, was it Thomas Hardy, Jane Austen or Charlotte Brontë who first made you fall in love with literature?" He gazes at the books sitting on the reading chair.

_Is he actually trying to make conversation after that? You know what, just humour him._

"Hardy," I sigh.

He nods, "I would've guessed Jane Austen."

I hum.

In the meantime, his phone buzzes in his back pocket and he swiftly looks at his notification alert. He pops his phone back into his pocket and sits on the arm of the reading chair. I can tell that he's deep in thought based on the way his eyes are unfocused and distant.

"Anastasia?" He asks.

I look at him again.

"I'm going to leave the door unlocked while I get the food from downstairs. Feel free to go anywhere you'd like… inside the apartment." The addition to the end of his sentence is not lost on me. Soon enough, he leaves but not before he takes my empty plate and glass with him. True to his word, he closes the door behind him but doesn't lock it. Maybe my words have hit their mark after all, albeit short-handedly.

For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the piece of wood always been closed to me in the duration I've been here. I take a deep breath and grasp the doorknob, twisting it and still, I'm waiting for the resistance but none comes. The door clicks open and I step out into the hallway.

I remember vaguely the layout of the hallway from my attempted escape and I reach the clearing on top of the stairs. He's nowhere to be found.

At first glance, you notice the extravagance of it all. The apartment, nearly imposing, as it stands with expensive marble gracing the floor. As well as, the sunken living room with cushioned L-shaped couches and an electric fireplace, just next to the large empty space of the foyer. The kitchen is just visible from where I was standing and to the side there was an enormous dining table which could easily seat 12 people.

I feel massively out of place in my t-shirt and leggings as I look around further. I'm jumpy and nervous, in case he appears behind me and drags me back to the room, in a change of mind.

I flinch as the elevator dings and he's back, carrying a white plastic bag. I notice the tension seep back into the room as he steps out.

He notices me standing in the foyer, "I see you made it out."

I say nothing.

"The food's here, I'll just go and plate it for us. Would you like to dine in your room or at the table?" He makes his way to the state of the art kitchen and takes out the contents of the plastic bag.

"The table, please."

He smiles and proceeds to give me some cutlery, "You can set the table, then."

I acquiesce in his decision and go to lay the pieces of cutlery down but I don't know how we'd rather sit. Side by side? Three chairs apart? Parallel? I decide on putting a set at the head of the table and another one, a chair down on the right side. A one seat distance.

_Since when did captivity get so domestic?_

He comes back with two plates of food and I'm already sat down in my seat. He sets one of the plates in front of me and I notice it's one of my favourites again. It's a light salmon on a small bed of brown rice. It's dressed and seasoned with lemon, rosemary, salt and pepper.

He places another plate but this time consisting of salad in between us on the table. "I took the liberty of choosing a drink for us, is the Barossa Valley Shiraz, alright for you?"

I know nothing about wine so I just nod. I'm still speechless at this whole setting. How did we get to me screaming and attacking him to us having lunch together?

"I'm quite partial to this dish," He suddenly says, interrupting my thoughts. "My sister made me try it once on a family lunch and it's something I've always ordered since."

I don't know if he's being genuine or is trying to cover up the fact that you could only get this dish in Montesano. Maybe, I'm the one being paranoid. I'm sure there's a lot of dishes like this in Seattle. It's just salmon and rice but it's _the_ salmon and rice Ray and I always have at the restaurant, when I visit him.

_God, I miss Ray._

The next few moments are just filled with us eating lunch in a civilised manner. No dirty looks from me and he's just minding his business with the salmon. I wonder if I'm to be let out like this more often.

_It sounds like you're a dog, Ana, jeez. Let out? Is he gonna take you on walks to pee now?_

"Will the door still be locked after this?" I ask him meekly.

He stops eating to pay me his full attention, "I'd been given the impression, you don't want it to be locked."

I scoff and roll my eyes, "Now, where did you get that idea?"

I look back at him and his fists are clenched again, the tell-tale sign of him holding himself back but what did I do? His hands relax after a couple seconds and he resumes eating.

It's not til he takes a sip of wine where he answers my question, "No, Anastasia. I'll leave the door unlocked for you."

"Even when you're at work?"

He sighs, "Yes, even when I'm at work. It's not like you can escape anyway."

I try to spite him, "I'm sure I'll find a phone here somewhere."

"I'm sorry, Anastasia but I seem to have given you the impression that you _can_ escape from here." He wipes his mouth with a napkin.

The mood changes ominously and I glare at him, my hand tightening around the cutlery.

_How dare he?_

My anger is lost on him as he continues, "I've disconnected all the phone lines from the main frame and the only phone that works in here is mine, of course. All of the windows here are double paned and are impossible to break, even with a few assistance. I've also removed all knives from the kitchen as well as, pointy objects and put them in a safe place, just in case. As you know, the elevator will not work unless a code is inputed and the elevator is the only way to get down from here. And who's got the code, Anastasia?"

I'm shaking with unspent anger at his monologue. I stand up with enough force that the chair I was sitting on tilts back and hits the floor. My hand with the fork is raised to strike at him but he catches my wrist to stop me. I'm wailing and shrieking, desperate, to be let go. The struggle doesn't go on for long as he's undeniably stronger than I am and the fork flies out of my hand and across the marble floors.

But I don't stop. I claw whatever skin I can find and kick my legs up at him, all the while screeching like a banshee. He puts both of his legs in between mine to minimise me hitting his crown jewels, and pushes me back onto the dining table. I fall back and we end up in a very suggestive position which only makes me panic and create more resistance.

"_Fuck off! Get the fuck off me!"_

He holds my wrists down on the mahogany and his breathing is heavy. He looks enjoyed by this, like he likes my resistance to him. I'm reduced to whimpers and tears flow out of my eyes in a slow, continuous stream.

_"_Get off me_, please."_ I plead.

He continues to lay on top of me and drops his mask covered forehead onto mine. His breathing is nearly as ragged as mine and his eyes are closed. I think in some sick way, he's savouring the moment of being on top of me.

"If only you'd just give this a chance, Anastasia." He whispers.

His grip on my wrists continue to tighten until they hurt and I'm scared. Did I finally do it? Make him angry enough to kill me? Dispose of me? Look for someone else, more willing?

I whimper, "Is that what you want of me?"

"More than anything, Anastasia."

"It's hard," I continue, "To be open to the idea of that when I'm locked in here like an animal."

"Try and if you still don't like it. You can go. The only way I'll let you go is if you genuinely give me a chance, Anastasia."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, this was the closest thing I could have to an escape. If he trusts me enough, he'll let me go. If I do this for him, he'll let me leave if I'm more susceptible to come back.

I swallow loudly, "Okay."

He lifts his head off mine to gauge my face, as if he can't believe what he was hearing.

"But on one condition." I state.

He looks deep in my eyes and his grey irises are swirling with affection, "_Anything_ for you," he breathes.

My voice, barely a whisper, almost getting lost in the sound of his breathing says, "Take off your mask."

He lets out a whimper while he clenches his eyes shut and shakes his head but I persevere in the only way I'd know he'd relent.

"Please?" I continue, "For me."

He opens his eyes again and in that moment, his steel grip still holding onto me airtight and my back littered with our discarded food, my tears mingling with my hair and drying salty tracks on my face, that I knew.

It was so clear in his sheer determination in his devotion towards me, his blatantly offering to give me the world so nonchalantly, that I knew he would do _anything _to keep me here, whether I gave him a chance or not.


End file.
